


wishes

by scribo_ad_astra



Category: A3! (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Getting Together, Kissing, M/M, Pining, Urban Fantasy, Vampires, Werewolves, ambiguous fantasy, background misukazuomi, is that a tag?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:41:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28318389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scribo_ad_astra/pseuds/scribo_ad_astra
Summary: Itaru wants to ask his co-worker on a date. Tsuzuru wants to find out what secrets the best bakery in town is hiding.
Relationships: Chigasaki Itaru/Citron
Comments: 7
Kudos: 42





	wishes

**Author's Note:**

> secret santa piece for [CITRONBF](https://twitter.com/CITRONBF) on twitter. happy holidays!

December always whirled in like a blizzard: quiet, but forceful, clearing away the crisp autumn leaves and replacing them with bells and ornaments. Downtown shops had transformed seemingly overnight, stringing colorful lights and posting ads for limited holiday specials. Even the office wasn’t immune, Itaru thought wryly as he grabbed a paper cup and filled it with the break room’s trademark lukewarm coffee. The tree next to the machine was small, scraggly, and - he sniffed - sprayed with pine-scented perfume as if to “make up” for its obvious plastic-ness. Paper cards with _thanks for your hard work!_ and _employees are the most valuable assets!_ hung from the branches. (Personally, Itaru preferred to get his workplace thanks in the form of a paycheck bonus.)

He tossed the empty cup in the recycling bin and went back to his cubicle. December meant the holiday rush was fast approaching, and he wasn’t looking forward to the onslaught on the horizon. Today had been a relatively easy day, however. He had already filled all the orders that had come in, so work was pretty slow right now. 

At the very least, having such a mind-numbing job did have some advantages. Itaru stretched his arms out and leaned back, surreptitiously checking to see if anyone was walking by. The person in the cubicle opposite his, a college intern whose main duty was proofreading e-mails and social media posts, was engrossed in typing something on his own computer. 

All clear. He double-checked that his volume was muted (trying to explain away a shrieking high-pitched female voice to some coworkers had been a nightmare) and opened his game, tapping the loading screen impatiently. His SP had been filled several minutes ago.

“What’s that?”

“Gah!” He jumped. His coworker, Citron, was peering over the partition, head tilted as he watched curiously. 

“Oh! Are you ranking for that event?”

“Shh!” Itaru put his finger to his lips and beckoned him inside. If anybody overheard, it would mean the end for him. 

Citron moved through the opening and leaned down. “You have the event card already?”

“Yeah,” Itaru looked down, tapping as he waited for a battle to spawn. “Got it yesterday.” Technically this morning, since he’d gotten impatient and whaled until 1 am. 

“Nice!” Citron congratulated him. “I am still bordering the tire.”

Itaru’s mouth quirked. “It’s tier. And yeah, I guess it is more difficult if you work in a busy department.” Citron worked in the international department of the customer support division, so he was almost always on the phone talking to customers in English or Zahran. Itaru worked in order processing, which was a fancy way of saying he answered calls and forwarded e-mails to the company’s supply warehouse all day. 

The battle began. Itaru tried focusing on getting a full combo, not the man watching over his shoulders. This close, Citron smelled like lemons and jasmine flowers - sweet and tangy, an odd but not entirely unwelcome combination. Itaru quickly pushed the thought from his mind - he needed this high score, after all - but then out of the corner of his eyes Citron reached up and tucked a loose strand of hair behind his ear in an action that was so UR- animation worthy it should be illegal. Damn.

It was almost distracting enough to make him break his combo, but Itaru was a pro. And pros never lost to anyone, not even infuriatingly hot coworkers that recognized the inspirational quote on his desk was from Red Dead Redemption and not an anonymous scholar like he’d claimed.

December meant Christmas, and Christmas meant wishes, and Itaru, the saint of not being greedy, had only three wishes.

First and foremost: guaranteed SSRs in all his gacha pulls. (No, that was not asking for too much.)

Second: find out how to raise Citron’s affection level.

Third, and the most pressing one currently: eat one of Omi Fushimi’s holiday-exclusive snickerdoodle cookies. 

Fushimi’s bakery was the place to go for anything that involved the words _baked_ and _goods_. Owned and run by him with the help of his two roommates, the pastries there were melt-in-your-mouth delectable. Plus, there was free wi-fi, which was always a bonus. 

The bell chimed as Itaru pushed the door open. 

“Hello!” The person behind the counter called. Beside him, Citron greeted him back as he unwrapped his scarf. 

“Hey,” Tsuzuru waved. “Nice decorations.” Holly branches lined the walls, the dark green leaves and red berries giving the already festive room added cheer. 

Misumi smiled. “Do you like them? Kazu picked them out.” 

“Figures. Where are Miyoshi and Fushimi anyway?”

Itaru could see the hesitation on the other man’s face, but it vanished quickly. “They’re upstairs! They were super busy last night, so I told them to rest while I ran the shop.”

“Again?” Itaru couldn’t help the pang of disappointment from crawling into his voice. Not that he thought Fushimi shouldn’t take a day off once in a while, but when Ikaruga was left in charge, well...cookies weren’t exactly high on his to-bake list.

“You guys wanna slice of cake?” Misumi asked. “Pie? Scone?”

Itaru looked at the selection behind the glass. There was an abundance of triangular pastries, but not much else. “I don’t suppose you have any cookies in the back?”

“Nope!” He shook his head cheerfully. 

“I’ll take a raspberry scone, then.” Itaru would have to wait for that snickerdoodle cookie. 

Citron ordered a cupcake, while Tsuzuru got a blueberry scone. They took their treats to a table and sat down. 

The scone was good - of course it was good. It almost made up for the lack of cookies. Almost.

“Mmm,” Citron closed his eyes as he spoke. “Fushimi’s baking is so good.”

There was a spot of icing on his nose. In a dating sim, this would be the perfect opportunity for the romanceable character to lean over and wipe it off, leaving the MC flustered. 

“Agreed.” Tsuzuru nodded. Too bad dating sims didn’t account for third parties. “Although…”

“Oh no.” Citron put the empty wrapper down. “What is it?”

Tsuzuru glanced over his shoulder, even though the cafe was empty bar them and the one worker. Then he leaned forward, voice dropping to a hushed whisper. 

“You guys feel it too, right? Something’s...off about this place.”

Itaru stared at him. Citron blinked. 

“...sure,” he said after several seconds. 

Tsuzuru shook his head. “I mean it. Aren’t you a little suspicious?”

“Of what?”

“ _Of what?_ Two-thirds of the owners go AWOL once a month without notice. That doesn’t seem a little bit weird to you?”

“So Fushimi and Miyoshi take a day off sometimes,” Itaru shrugged. “Sure, it sucks that we’re left with the one person in the world with a weird hang-up about shapes, but we’ll survive.”

“Yes, but-” Tsuzuru took out a pocket notebook and flipped it open. “It’s always random days. September 3rd. October 2nd. November 1st. And now, December 1st.”

Citron leaned over. “Oh, Tsuzuru, I didn’t know you were a stocker!”

“Stalker,” he and Itaru both said at the same time. “And I’m not.”

“Sure,” Itaru said dryly.

“Whatever helps you to sleep at night!”

Tsuzuru rolled his eyes. “You guys can’t say you’re not a little bit curious about this.”

“Not-” Itaru was interrupted by the door to the back kitchen opening. Kazunari Miyoshi, the second third of the cafe’s operating system, stumbled through in sweatpants and a t-shirt, hair a mess. 

“Morning, Kazu!” Misumi said. Kazunari yawned and threw his arms over the other’s shoulders from behind.

“Kaaazzz,” Misumi whined softly, “you’re getting f- hair all over me.”

“Mmm,” Kazunari mumbled, burying his face deeper into his neck. “S’fine.”

“Omi won’t like it if we get a health code violation.”

“Omimi doesn’t have to know.”

Itaru felt like an intruder watching something so personal. He looked away, face flushing.

The holiday rush came in like a tidal wave, and Itaru’s desk was soon ringing with last-minute orders by panicked procrastinators. 

“You want _how_ many printers?” He adjusted the phone under his ear. “Yes, it’s not a problem. Would you like to add express shipping?”

The last call ended fifteen minutes after Itaru’s shift was supposed to. He put the phone back into its receiver, closing his eyes and feeling his shoulders slump.

“Your face is so wrong.”

“Long.” He swiveled his chair around. “At least I hope that’s what you meant.”

Citron just grinned, cocking his head. “Being sad looks wrong on you.”

Ha. That sounded like a line straight out of a cheesy dating sim. Itaru wondered what dialogue would unlock Citron’s route. It would be a lot easier if the words were in front of him.

“Do you want to go Christmas shopping with me?” Citron asked.

That was a dialogue option Itaru didn’t need to see in order to take. “Sure.”

They ended up going to the mall downtown. Holiday music blasted over the loudspeakers, a mix of English and Japanese renditions of Mariah Carey and Jingle Bells. 

“How about this?” Itaru picked up a coffee mug with _Live, Laugh, Caffeinate_ printed on it in pseudo-fancy script. Cheap, cliché, and impersonal - in other words, the perfect gift. 

“That’s great!” Citron smiled. “I’m sure your sister will love it.”

“She better,” Itaru murmured. He was so looking forward to seeing her face as she unwrapped it, tight-lipped but still forcing herself to thank him politely, after giving him a book on dating or a ticket to a single’s meetup and some not-so-subtle comments about how he was old enough to start thinking about “settling down and starting a real family”. (Her gifts were getting less subtle each year. Itaru’s repeated insistence that he was not interested - and more importantly, _not straight_ \- seemed to fall on deaf ears.)

“Have you found anything for your-” Itaru paused. “Oh, yeah, your family doesn’t celebrate Christmas, right?”

He remembered his co-worker mentioning something about religion the first week they met, although he still wasn’t sure what it involved, except for leaving the cubicles a few times a day and skipping lunch for a month last spring.

“Not really,” he hummed in answer. “But I’d still like to send them some souvenirs! Look.” He held up a paper fan depicting the Great Wave off Kanagawa. “My mother will love this.”

“I’m sure she will.” Itaru was thoroughly impressed with his friend’s talent for finding the most kitschy tourist stuff in the unlikeliest of places. 

They walked around the shops, stopping anywhere that caught their eye. Itaru found a place that did laser engraving and bought a cutting board with his parent’s names carved into it for them. Citron spent an exorbitantly long amount of time in a plushie store. 

“It’s so hard to pick!” He held up a fluffy pink stuffed llama and a sparkly rainbow dog. “Which one?”

“Llama,” Itaru answered without skipping a beat. Citron looked between the two plushes critically before setting the dog back on the shelf. 

“Want to go to the arcade?” he asked as they left the store.

“No.”

“Aw, come on,” Citron nudged him playfully. “It’s right over there!”

Itaru could feel the eyes of several mall-goers bearing into them. Into him. He bit his lip. “Look, I don’t….”

“Why?”

Itaru stopped. “Why?”

“You care a lot about what other people think of you.” He said it matter-of-factly, like he was simply observing a statement of truth. 

Itaru blinked. “Well, yeah.”

“Is it because of your…” he trailed off. “Picture?”

“Image?”

Citron nodded. Itaru hesitated, inwardly crumbling under (and slightly distracted by) the intense stare being leveled at him. Citron’s silvery-blue eyes held the sky in them, and now that sky was full of rainclouds. 

“It’s just...people have expectations. If you don’t look or act a certain way, then...well, I don’t think you’d understand.”

The second the words left Itaru’s mouth he regretted them. Citron flinched and looked away. “No expectations. Right.”

“I didn’t-” he swallowed. “Sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”

Citron shook his head. “It’s fine.”

“Sorry.” Shit, he had to fix this fast or he’d end up on the bad end, with Citron hating him forever. The thought was unbearable. 

An idea spawned in his mind. “Hey - do you wanna go to the arcade?”

“Didn’t you just-?”

“No,” Itaru said quickly, his voice dropping. “Not here, anyways.”

  
  


Citron was uncharacteristically quiet as he followed him down the streets. The upscale shops transformed into rundown stores. He finally stopped at a two-story building held together with wooden planks and a neon sign. 

“A bar?” Citron looked up, then around. “Are we in the red light district?!”

“No!” Itaru shouted quickly. “It’s not that kind of place!”

He pushed open the door, dodging around a few intoxicated patrons until he reached a second door. 

“Password.”

Itaru rolled his eyes as the burly bouncer blocked his path. “It’s me, Hiroshi.”

“Boss says nobody is allowed up without the password.”

He grit his teeth. "toddhowardsux69."

"Thank you." He opened the door and stepped aside, revealing a narrow passage of stairs.

The room was sparsely decorated. A few beanbags scattered around took the place of sofas, while some overturned crates acted as side tables. What the place lacked in furniture, however, it more than made up for with-

"Is that a Super NES?"

"Yep," Itaru grabbed a mountain dew from a cooler next to the door and flopped down on a beanbag. "Have you ever played _Street_ _Fighter_ before?"

Citron smirked. "You're looking at Zahra's undisputed _Street_ _Fighter_ champion."

He wasn't exaggerating. Itaru prided himself on being unbeatable at video games, but his coworker was proving to be a tough opponent. Both avatars punched and dodged and kicked while the fingers controlling them moved at breakneck speeds. 

Okay, Itaru decided, enough was enough. Time to break out the killing combo. Up, up, down- 

Citron's avatar pounced on his and destroyed it in half a second. 

"Yes!" He threw his hands up and whooped as WINNER - PLAYER TWO flashed across the screen. Itaru fell back. He...lost? He had never lost a game before. Not even the high school brat who hung out here and bragged about never losing to anyone could beat him (those last two games were a tie, thank you very much). 

Citron turned to him, smiling. Itaru felt his heart skip a beat. Maybe losing wasn't such a bad thing. 

Sometimes. 

"Rematch?" He was already booting up the loading screen. "I'll beat you this time, I swear…."

It was after midnight when the bouncer kicked them out. The night air was freezing cold, making Itaru’s fingers stiff. His sister better appreciate that mug and the effort it was taking him not to drop it.

“That was fun. We should do it again sometime.”

“You think so?” Itaru found himself smiling. Having a regular opponent for PvP games didn’t sound half-bad. (Having that opponent be Citron sounded even better.) 

“...I still won, by the way.”

“Ha! In your dreams.”

“Fine, it was fifty-fifty. At least.” Itaru admitted. “What moves did you use in those combos?”

“That’s a trade secret!” Citron winked. _Wow. One-hit KO._

They arrived at the intersection between their apartments. The pedestrian light blinked green, the light reflecting in the small patches of ice and slush on the sidewalk. Neither of them moved. 

The light changed to red.

“Thanks for coming with me,” Itaru said at last. “And sorry for holding you out so late on a weekday.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Citron nudged him. “I had fun.”

“Yeah?” Itaru looked away, feeling his cheeks heat from embarrassment. Or maybe it was hypothermia. “I like hanging out with you.”

“I like you too, Itaru.”

“Wha-?” Itaru’s head snapped up, but the light had changed back to green, and Citron was already halfway across the street, half-running and half-skating on the ice patches. He turned around and waved.

“See you tomorrow!”

“...Right,” Itaru waved back. “Tomorrow.”

_I like you._ Such straightforward words, not much room for interpretation. At least, not in video games. Itaru unlocked the door to his apartment and stepped inside. Real life was always more complicated. 

What did Citron mean by that? Was he just reciprocating Itaru’s own words, that he also enjoyed hanging out together? Did he mean it platonically? Was there some other sentiment, a hidden meaning perhaps, lost in translation?

He mulled over it during the following weeks. The holiday rush meant they were both busy in their own departments, so the chances of running into Citron on his two-minute dash to the coffee machine as he worked through lunch was slim to none. 

He even lingered for a few seconds, hoping that by some force of nature their gamer bro telepathy would activate and his coworker would appear. He didn’t, but the supervising manager did, and the look she gave Itaru told him he’d better get back to work if he didn’t want a hefty sum deducted from his next paycheck. 

He sighed and made his way back to his desk, squeezing against the wall as a few people rushed by with papers in their hands. Maybe he would try to catch Citron as he was leaving. 

“That’s it- no...silver...night…” Itaru heard Tsuzuru muttering from his cubicle. He poked his head in. 

“Hey, I got an extra cup of coffee if you - whoa. What murder are you trying to cover up in here?”

The place was a mess, even by Itaru’s standards. Newspaper clippings, photographs, and post-it notes were taped to the walls and scattered haphazardly around the floor. Red yarn was pinned between them in a criss-cross pattern. 

“Uncover,” Tsuzuru corrected. His eyes were wide despite the dark circles. “Not murder, but I think I uncovered... _something_.”

Itaru stared at the pictures. All of them were of the café, taken from the inside or on the street, clipped from ads or candid photographs. A list of dates was tacked next to the most prominent photo. 

“Look at this.” He minimized the document on his computer, pulled up a search engine, and typed in ‘full moon dates 2020’. “Every time Fushimi and Miyoshi go on break, it’s always the day after the full moon. Do you know what that means?”

“Yes,” Itaru nodded. “It means you’re nuts.”

“They’re werewolves!” he hissed. 

Itaru could hear the clock ticking at the end of the hallway. Tick, tock, tick - thirty seconds passed before he spoke. 

“...Are you a liberal arts major?”

Tsuzuru flinched and grimaced - he had hit a sore spot. “Creative writing, technically.”

“Ah. And how many loans did you take out?”

“Do you have a point to this?” 

Itaru leaned over and flicked him on the forehead. “All those fiction classes are rotting your mind.”

“I’m dead serious.” He paused. “Speaking of the dead, I’m pretty sure Ikaruga’s a vampire too.”

“Why not.”

“You don’t believe me.”

“What? No. I totally believe the best cafe in town is run by discount halloween movie monsters,” Itaru rolled his eyes. “Now if you’ll excuse me, some of us have work to do.”

He never did get a chance to catch Citron - both of them worked late, and the chances of them leaving at the same time were almost nonexistent. Itaru barely had the energy to rank in events. Of course, his holiday bonus should have plenty for gacha pulls, which should more than make up for it. 

At last it was Christmas Eve. 

“Thank god,” Itaru stretched as soon as the three of them were out of the building. “If I had to answer one more phone call, I would have killed somebody.”

“Beats typing all day.” Tsuzuru shook his hands out and groaned. “My carpal tunnel has carpal tunnel.”

Citron turned around. “Now that we’re free, we should go to Omi’s place!”

“Sounds good to me,” Itaru nodded. Finally, he could get that SSR-rank snickerdoodle cookie. Then he added, “Minagi, if you drive a stake through the best baker in this city I’ll never forgive you.”

Tsuzuru sputtered. 

“Hmm?” Citron cocked his head. “What do you mean?”

“Minagi’s convinced Fushimi’s a werewolf,” Itaru explained. 

“I wasn’t - stakes are for vampires, anyways-”

“A werewolf?” Citron grinned. “Oh, because of the monthly disappearances! That explains it.”

“That doesn’t explain anything,” Itaru protested. 

“They keep steak in their refrigerator,” Tsuzuru said. “Steak. In a bakery.”

“Still nothing. Have you seen Fushimi? That man probably eats steak for breakfast.”

Citron nodded in agreement. “Maybe their own fridge was full.”

“They don’t have silverware.”

“Nobody uses silverware, dude. It’s all about biodegradable crap now.”

Tsuzuru rolled his eyes. “Look, I’ll prove it.”

“Please don’t.” Itaru thought for a minute. “Or if you do, do it when I’m not around.”

“Not tonight, please!” Citron cried. “You’ll ruin our date!”

Itaru choked. _DATE?_ That had to be a mistake. 

“Not a date,” he corrected quickly. “We’re just...hanging out.”

Citron looked crestfallen. “Oh.”

The café was packed. Itaru could barely hear the bells as he pushed the door open. 

“Welcome!” Omi said from behind the counter. Itaru looked around. 

“Have any open tables?” He asked half-jokingly. Omi chuckled apologetically. 

“I think the group over there is leaving soon.” He nodded to a family in the far corner, one woman picking up napkins to place in the bin while another woman bundled a baby into a thick coat. There was just one problem: the table was made for two people.  
“Go ahead,” Tsuzuru waved them on as he sat down on a bar stool. “I wanted to talk to Fushimi, anyways.” 

Itaru frowned. He didn’t like the idea of Tsuzuru being alone with the shop’s owner. Nor was he looking forward to being alone with Citron on an (accidentally) proclaimed “date”, although he didn’t have time to dwell on that before the other man grabbed his hand and guided him to the open table. 

“What did you want to talk about?” Omi asked, crouching down to place some freshly-baked brownies in the display case.

Tsuzuru hummed as he leaned against the counter. “Are you interested in astronomy?”

“I’ve been stargazing a few times. Why, any interesting celestial occurrences coming up?”

“Not really. Except,” Tsuzuru paused. “Full moon’s in about a week.”

Omi stopped for a split second. Then he stood up, smiling. “That’s true, isn’t it?”

“Tables three, nine, and seventeen have their orders in!” Misumi announced as he catapulted across the bar, pointedly ignoring the gate. Omi took the papers from his hand. 

“More cherry tarts...we’re running low. Can you check the ones in the oven?”

“Got it!” Misumi saluted. Then, “ _Achoo!_ ”

“Bless you,” Omi and Tsuzuru said.

“Thanks- _Achoo! Achoo!_ ”

Omi’s eyebrow raised in concern. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine!” His red eyes contradicted that statement. “I’m just - achoo!”

“You don’t sound so good,” Tsuzuru commented. “Maybe you should take a break.”

Omi turned. “Minagi, what’s in your hand?”

“Oh, this?” He took another bite. “Did you know raw garlic has amazing health benefits?”

Misumi sniffled. “I’m allergic to garlic.”

“Of course you are,” he muttered under his breath. Then, louder: “Sorry, I’ll throw it away.”

“No!” Misumi stepped back. “I’ll just go check the oven.” 

He ran through the door. Tsuzuru’s eyes narrowed. 

“Yip! Yip!”

He looked down and dropped the garlic ball. “Omi, there’s a dog here.”

The dog, a corgi with stubby legs and pointy ears, nosed the ball. “Hey, no, that’s not a toy.” He picked it up quickly and threw it in the bin. 

“Hmm?” Omi leaned over the counter and looked down. “Oh, that’s just a stray.”

“Arf!” The corgi looked at Tsuzuru expectantly. He leaned down and scratched it behind the ears. “Awfully clean to be a stray.” 

“Yes, well,” Omi opened the gate. The dog gave Tsuzuru’s hand one final lick, then trotted through. 

“I thought we agreed to use the back door...you didn’t see the milk delivery coming? Okay.” The dog yipped some more, then nosed the kitchen door open and slipped inside. 

Kazunari walked out seconds later. “Hey, Tsuzuroon! Why’s Sumi crying over the Christmas cakes?”

“He had an allergic reaction.”

“From the garlic? Dang, and I was so looking forward to our party tonight!”

“How’d you know it was garlic?”

“Hm?” Kazunari tilted his head and flashed him one of his trademark dazzling smiles. “From the smell, obvs!”

“Is he okay?” Omi asked.

“Yeah,” Kazunari nodded. “I told him to drink some-” his eyes flickered to Tsuzuru. “Er, fruit punch.”

“Is the dog with him?”

Kazunari turned. “Dog?”

“There was a corgi here a minute ago,” Tsuzuru explained. Kazunari grinned. 

“Aww! Was it a cute corgi?”

“Adorable,” Omi said. “But it’s not here anymore.”

“Where did it go?” Tsuzuru craned his neck. “If the health inspector finds a stray in your kitchen, they might shut you down.”

“Which is exactly why no dogs are allowed in the kitchen.”

“Maybe if somebody didn’t lock the back door,” Tsuzuru heard Kazunari mutter. 

“What are you doing tomorrow?” 

“For Christmas?” Itaru hummed. “Just the usual. Visiting family and stuff.”

“That sounds nice.”

“How about you?”

“Me?” Citron shrugged. “I don’t have any plans. Maybe I will rent a movie, or go to a museum, or find a secret ninja organization and become a spy for a rival clan.”

“Nice,” Itaru grinned. “Wish I could come with you.”

“Me too. It would be much more fun being ninjas together!”

The lights were low, warm and cozy. The smell of warm sugar and cinnamon wafted through the air. This might not be a dating sim, but it was still a pretty good set-up. 

“Actually,” he swallowed. “I was wondering if you wanted to do something...together...after Christmas.”

Citron tilted his head, an amused smile on his face as he echoed, “Together? Like we’re doing now?”

“Yes. No. I mean, more like a date,” he blurted out.

“Are you asking me out?”

Oh no. Very smooth, Itaru, he scolded himself. He could see the routes closing in front of him, leaving only the bad-end ones, the ones where Citron turns him down and moves away or-

“Okay!”

He blinked. “Okay?”

“It’d be fun to see a movie together,” Citron continued. “Or you can come to my place! It’s very small, but the neighbors are nice.”

“Oh.”

“Is something wrong?”

“Nothing.” He cleared his throat. “So, like, dating. You’re cool with that?” _Please don’t say no._

Citron rolled his eyes affectionately and reached across the table, squeezing his hand. “Itaru. I already told you I like you.”

Oh. Oh, yeah. If there was a ranking prize for being a dumbass, Itaru was in first place.

“I like you, too,” he said. 

“Where did the dog go?”

“What dog?” Kazunari asked innocently. 

“The dog that was just here. What was it doing here, anyways?”

“Now you’re asking the real questions! What are any of us doing here, really?”

He groaned. “Come on, why can’t you give me a straight answer-” the smirk on the other man’s face made him freeze. “No.”

“Aw, Tsuzuroon!” Kazunari crowed in delight. “You know why I can’t do that!”

“I hate this. I hate everything.”

Omi shook his head, smiling. “You walked right into that one.”

Maybe so, but that didn’t mean Tsuzuru had to like it. He sighed. “Because you’re not-”

“Because I’m not straight!” Kazunari held his hand up. Tsuzuru stared at it witheringly. 

“That was awful. I’m not high-fiving you.”

“You’re so mean,” he pouted, but let his hand drop. Omi patted him on the back. 

“I’ll high-five you, Kazu!” Misumi said as he suddenly appeared next to him, eyes still a little watery. The blond perked back up. “Thanks, Sumi! I knew you wouldn’t let me down.”

Omi cleared his throat. “Once you two are done, tables twelve and twenty-three have their orders ready to go.”

“On it, Omimi!” Kazunari grabbed the tray, stopping to give the other man a quick kiss before heading off. 

“Now,” Omi turned back to him. “What were you saying about the full moon?”

Tsuzuru tapped his fingers. Part of him wanted to throw the suggestion out there, have Omi laugh and reassure him that it was all a huge misunderstanding, or, if he _was_ right, watch him try to explain away everything as mere coincidences. But if he was -what then? 

“Here.” Tsuzuru blinked at the cake set in front of him. 

“I didn’t order anything.”

“I know,” Omi smiled. “It’s Christmas, isn’t it? Consider it on the house.”

“...Thanks.” 

The snow had stopped falling when they left the bakery, leaving a thick white blanket that crunched under their shoes. Itaru and Citron walked down the empty street in silence, holding hands, until they reached the intersection between their apartments. Once again both of them stopped, neither wanting to leave first. 

The light changed to red. Citron let go of Itaru’s hand to rub his together. 

“...Do you want to come to my place?” Itaru said suddenly. Screw whatever his family was expecting tomorrow. 

“I’d like that,” Citron smiled. Something caught his eye. “Oh!”

“What is it?”

He simply pointed up. Itaru’s eyes followed, looking up to the lamppost - and the conspicuous green branch tied to it.

“I’ve heard of this tradition! It’s mistletoe, right?”

“Yeah,” he kept looking up. Somebody must have put it there as a prank. “You have to-”

“Kiss under it?”

He looked back down. Citron’s eyes were sparkling under the light. His lips tasted like sugar, and a small part of Itaru’s brain rationalized it as the cookies they had just had, but the rest of him was more concerned with kissing back. 

The light changed to green. Itaru let go, breathless. 

“Itaru,” Citron leaned forward seriously, “I have something very important to ask you.”

“Yes?” he gasped. _Yes, anything, yes._

“...do you have _Smash?_ ”

“Of course.”

“Great! First one there gets to main Princess Peach!” He dashed across the road. 

“What the - hey!” Itaru yelled as he ran after him. Citron laughed. “Come on, man! I’ll let you have Pikachu!”


End file.
